Ghost-of-a-Chance

Every time I think we’ve gotten through a crisis in real life, something else pops up. Now we’ve been told my doctor-averse husband will end up paralyzed if he doesn’t have surgery...and we’re talking serious consequences within a few months, not years, paralysis in years, not decades.

It’s not just Cold’s injury, either. We’ve had a deluge of stress this year. I had to have surgery because of constant headaches. Cold, aside from the sudden increase in chronic pain leading to his terrifying diagnosis, got sick for the first time in over a decade, and I’ve gotten sick at least a dozen times (enough to need medication) since Christmas. We lost Woozle in January. My mother may be having a joint replaced this year on account of injury and age. My mother-in-law suddenly decided I’m the antichrist despite being female and has done her damnedest to make life harder than it needs to be. On top of all that, Heiferlump’s health took another turn, and she’s on more medication than she ever has been before. That cat started last year healthy as a horse, and now we worry about her constantly; yesterday, she climbed her cat tower for the first time in a year, and I was torn between happy to see her with so much energy, and worried this is a sign her time is nearing. And I won’t even get into the problems we’re having with the house, that we cannot afford to fix and also can’t afford to not fix, and the fact that this storm season is unusually active.

We. Need. A frigging break. Somewhere out there, there’s a Ghost-shaped curse doll. If whatever stab-happy motherfucker found it would just...not...at least for a few months...that would be great.